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pieces of the old wood boat are cast overboard as the wise ancient mariner patiently wrests
and works her more alive than dead.
one at a time, in a quiet order, not unsymbiotic, they drift away with the ebbing tide
from their long-time resting place when taken from their forest home;
rotten and rotting from the inside,
very much alive in places.
the smell of fresh old forest still emanating from the places alive,
the smell of old forest reincarnating from the rot.
tight, straight beautiful grain of ancient wood; such a shame.
the pieces floating away are as somber, quiet tomb stones, marking end of life in their place on the old wood boat;
reincarnation wherever tide and sea rest them.
